A Crow in the Wild
by Bladewyvern
Summary: Rangers keep disappearing. The dead are walking again. And rumors spread of White Walkers much to the alarm of the Night's Watch. A comet lights up the sky and there are rumors of dragons. Winter is coming and no one is safe. Thorin had never feared the worst as he does now.
1. Thorin

**Thorin**

He hadn't remembered feeling this miserable in years. Rainwater sloshed around the dirt of the ranger's road, making it more mud than anything and the horses moved slowly down the muddy path. The rain pouring from above combined with ice and snow and no matter how hard he tried, Thorin failed at keeping water out of his boots. Soaked to the bone and shivering, they tried in vain to move under the cover of trees but it proved fruitless in keeping them dry. Thorin swore to the Old gods. Perhaps they didn't hear him. Or didn't care to.

His sister once said that the gods were cruel. Or they wouldn't be gods.

So they poured ice and rain and snow upon them.

Thorin buried his nose deeper into his soaked fur cloak. It was beginning to smell like wet dog and weigh down his shoulders heavily but he was still rather thankful he had it at all. Three days journey from Castle Black has proved far difficult than Thorin's initial journey to the Wall itself. But the weather beyond the Wall was far colder and far less predictable. Not the mention the numerous dangers posed by the inhabitants of the Wilds. Thorin growled. They had passed 5 villages and numerous camps now, deserted of all life and the Lord Commander had bid them stop at each one to investigate.

Thorin was always weary but the results were always the same. Long burned out fires. Abandoned tents and shacks left in disarray. No one in sight. And when Thorin should have felt relief at not having to fight, his unease only grew. The Wildlings seemed to be fleeing SOMETHING. Yet at the moment, it was unclear as to what. He could have guessed though.

It was mere weeks ago that their dead comrades have tried to kill the Lord Commander. Thorin would not have believed it if it had not happened before his eyes. He had been tending to the fires in the Lord Commander's chambers when two corpses shattered through the wooden doors and tried to strike him down. He had called for his direwolf and set one ablaze while the other managed to stab him in his upturned hand. It took far longer to dispatch of the shambling monstrosity and even now Thorin's hand throbbed dully. And those eyes. They were the iciest of blues yet as dead and cold as a crypt and the memory of them sent shivers down Thorin's spine.

They had sent Gloin to King's Landing with the Wight's severed hand in hopes of finding more men for the Watch. With luck, the King would see their plight. After all, the plight of the Watch, was the plight of all in the end.

Wights. Others. White Walkers.

Thorin had to stop thinking about them. He hoped his family was safe. The thought of ..._THEM _beyond the Wall... in Winterfell. It was too much to bear. The glum wasn't helping him any so Thorin distracted himself.

He still remembered the day he left. No one forced him into taking the black. No one twisted his arm or sent him there from some dungeon. Thorin had asked to go.

Voluntary exile, he called it.

Voluntary idiocy, Dis had called it when he finally told her.

"This is pure madness, Thorin!" She had raged, rustling about the room in a fury while Frerin sat aghast beside her.

"Dis..."

"You?! Of all people?! You would take the Black and join the ranks of criminals and rapists?!"

"The Watch is an honorable job, Dis."

His sister scoffed. Quite loudly. "Oh yes, and you would leave Winterfell in FRERIN'S capable hands?" Frerin tried to protest but Dis overrode him. "He isn't ready for lordship!" She barreled on as if Frerin wasn't in the room. Thorin frowned deeply.

"In your eyes, sweet sister, he will never be ready." As Dis opened her mouth to protest, Thorin stopped her with a gesture. "Frerin is more than capable." He continued sternly, clapping his brother on the shoulder. "As are you, if you wish to aid him. However, this decision is mine and I have decided long ago."

"But...think of what you'd be giving up." Frerin tried, in a vain attempt to help Dis' cause.

"What of your children, Thorin?" Dis demanded.

"What children?" Nearly 40 and graying in hair Thorin had been wifeless and childless.

"Fili and Kili, for one!" His sister insisted.

"They are old enough, they will understand."

"But..."

"No." Thorin cut them both off, tone hardening. "The matter is not up for discussion. I have no wife or heirs to speak of. I am almost middle aged and soon enough, no one will want a childless, wifeless lord. Whether I leave for the Watch will not drastically effect what happens here. You are both still young and Dis has heirs to carry on our name. I have faith that you will do much good here. Just as I have faith that I can put my talents to better use on the Wall. They always need men for the Watch."

They had spent another two hours trying to talk him out of it before finally relenting.

It was odd, Thorin decided now just as he had when he first gazed upon the Wall. Odd to think that he had given up so much. And even now, 2 years after joining the Watch, Thorin felt a strong pang of home sickness.

Oh, Dis made sure to send ravens. Filled with the expected amount of snide commentary but Thorin could always feel how much they missed him. And occasionally, when lying awake, staring at the ceiling of his cell, he wondered if this had been a giant mistake. But, Winterfell was in good hands, he was sure of that. And if the Gods were good, Dis would teach those menace sons of hers to be proper lords when the time came.

Two years.

Thorin buried his nose deeper into his cloak collar. The rain was starting to get heavier and the snow thicker and if there was ever a time to wish for a warm fire and a roof over their heads, this was it.

"Thorin, a word if you please." Came the Lord Commander's voice from the front of their column and Thorin spurred his horse into a light trot to catch up.

"_Word, word."_ The raven on the Lord Commander's shoulder cawed loudly, ruffling its feathers unhappily and sending water flying into his owner's face. Thorin caught up and couldn't hold back a faint chuckle as the bird got swatted at.

"Gandalf?"

"What do you make of this?"

"Too empty and too wet for my liking." Thorin grumbled while the raven cawed "_Wet, wet" _and hopped about Gandalf's fur clad shoulder. The Lord Commander tutted loudly at it.

"They ran too quickly and took little with them." He pointed out.

"Winter is coming." Thorin muttered into his wet beard. Gandalf nodded faintly.

"And something is coming with it. Those Wights... we have no seen the last of them. Nor what made them. I fear there will be more. The Wildlings must know this, so they flee beyond the wall."

"Or further North."

"That is part of my fear as well. The King Beyond the Wall must be calling all to him." Thorin frowned at those words.

"All this talk of them being free people, yet they have a king?" He asked slowly.

"_King, king, king." _The raven mocked.

"Not in so much pomp and circumstance."

"Yet a king?"

"Don't be so shocked. The Wildlings don't have banners or sworn lords and they come and go as they please." Gandalf shrugged a shoulder. "If they are massing in great number, there must be something large and dangerous brewing." He added. Thorin didn't like the sound of that at all. It was his great fear that Gandalf was right. Winter was coming after all, and may have already come for some.

He fell into silence and thought while Gandalf's raven begged loudly for corn. Gandalf ignored the bird, as did Thorin.

When they finally made camp and raised cover to start a fire, Thorin was tasked with checking on the ravens that they had brought with them from Castle Black. The birds sounded as unhappy about their conditions as Thorin felt. He sloshed around the mud and the snow and fed the birds to keep them quiet before returning to cover where they had managed to get a fire going. He wished he could try and dry his feet but the rain and snow had not let up and most efforts in that direction proved futile.

The rest of the night was spent huddled around the fire, cursing the weather and bouts of fitful sleep. Thorin was lucky to get a solid 4 hours before they were off again, chewing on a hunk of salted pork. Oh how sick he was of salted pork. As the day passed however, the rain began to slacken and turned slowly to a light snow that speckled Thorin's already white speckled hair. There was no stopping it, the hood of his cloak was too wet to pull over his head.

But even the snow was a respite. Even though it would be hours before their clothes dried. And it was after those hours when they found their next village. Thorin could already see something was different and spurred his horse along to catch up with Lord Commander Gandalf once more. Gandalf was squinting while his raven flapped nervously on his shoulder, cawing for corn.

"Thorin, take 30 men and scout ahead. Signal if there's trouble."

"Aye, my lord." Spurring his horse around, Thorin quickly gave instruction before they broke away from the main company.

The maps called the village Whitetree. A name that did little to endear itself to Thorin once he saw the village itself. Abandoned like all the rest they had come across and the only visible face was that of the giant weirwood in the village center. Its white branches spread over all nearby houses, covering them with crimson leaves. Thorin motioned for the group to spread out and search while he trotted up to the tree to investigate.

By the time the Lord Commander was notified and the rest of the company had flooded the village, Thorin was inspecting the mouth of the tree intently. All Northerners had a deep respect for the weirwood and Winterfell had its very own Godswood in which Thorin had spent many a day.

He could see something within the gaping maw of the tree's mouth and as Gandalf trotted up behind him, Thorin's hand disappeared inside the gap.

"Thorin?"

"There is something in here, my lord." Thorin filtered with some effort before managing to grab what he was rooting around for and yank it free. A skull. Thorin held it aloft, frowning and shaking some ash from its surface. A look inside the gaping maw of the weirwood revealed another skull, ashes and a few charred bones.

"...Interesting..." Gandalf muttered behind him before Thorin trudged the skull over. Yanking off one of his gloves, Gandalf carefully ran long, wizened fingers over the skull's surface, as if hoping it would give him answers. "We know the Wildlings burn their dead. And now because of past events I think we know why."

Thorin looked uncomfortable. "_Dead, dead."_ The raven shrieked loudly, flapping its wings and trying very hard to peck at the skull. Gandalf shooed it off.

"No signs of life?"

"None that we could find. It's just like the rest. Possessions and animals gone. No signs of attack. Just...empty." Gandalf's frown remained.

"Our theories are starting to look more and more real." He grumbled under his crooked nose before motioning for them to move out once more. One of the scouts had gone ahead, reporting they had a few hours of daylight left and Gandalf aimed to get as far North as he possibly could before day's end.

_6__th__ village found, _Gandalf had written to Maester Oin as they rode, _Whitetree. Empty like the others. Wildlings are gone._ As the raven went flying, the Lord Commander rubbed idle fingers through his beard, his own raven loudly demanding corn. Thorin wished for a bed, a fire and a bowl of hot stew. Anything to beat the cold back.

The snow had grown thicker throughout the day and Thorin's only consolation was that his cloak was now dry enough to make use of its hood and wrap tighter beneath it. All this time on the road, and there was still no sign of the reason why they had journeyed from Castle Black to begin with.

For over a year, groups of Rangers had ventured beyond the Wall, never to be seen again. At first, nothing came back of them. Until two corpses were discovered, left over from a party of 5. The rest were not to be found and the corpses came to walk again that night. Those events spurred the Lord Commander into action. They could not just sit idly by while the dead walked and their numbers dwindled. What manpower could be spared for this venture was emptied from Castle Black. Thorin half wished they had sent him to King's Landing in place of Gloin. This was just miserable.

But there was no good in drowning in self pity. He was next to take over for the Lord Commander and it was a job he took with the utmost seriousness. Ahead, Gandalf's raven cawed for corn.

It was going to be a long night. The snow continued.


	2. Dis

**DISCLAIMER- This fic disregards the ages in which some of these people originally lived. Meaning, I will be using the cast of LOTR as well as the Hobbit to fill out the cast ranks. So if you see names that probably shouldn't be there because of the original story's time difference, do not be surprised.**

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**Dis**

Dis sat by the window, watching the snow pile up in the courtyard outside while her youngest son swatted at Ser Dwalin with a wooden sword. Her oldest had wanted to have a crack at it as well but Dis sent him off to lessons, much to his dismay.

"You are next to be lord of Winterfell." She reprimanded Fili crossly. "As such, you WILL sit with Maester Balin and you WILL learn." There was no room for argument. Fili trudged off with muttered complaining.

Now Dis sat alone, her lap and the floor strewn with parchment while below, Dwalin easily parried Kili's strikes. Her thoughts reeled. There was so much to worry about. Thorin was two years gone, her Lord husband had gone to King's Landing only a few months ago, taking half of their household with him and now she was tasked with seeing to Winterfell. Not alone, of course, but Frerin had been consistently unreliable in the ways of lordship. He preferred to ride off and hunt or adventure around the countryside, leaving much of the actual RULING to Dis.

She tutted, tapping the paper with a long, elegant finger. Men. Always thinking of fighting and war and their blasted honor. War never fed families. Honor never helped mothers birth their young. Fighting never helped when people froze in their beds from the cold. Dis stood with a rustle. The _clack clack_ of wood against wood continued from the courtyard. She had bigger things to worry about than her honor. Winter was coming and it promised to be the coldest and harshest they had seen in years. Dis spared no time in preparations. Food was constantly coming into Winterfell and its surrounding villages and while they did not have the bounty of Highgarden, they were making due as best as they could. Dis made sure to see to that.

Rumors began to reach her ears that were far from her liking. Some turmoil in King's Landing. And her husband's recent news about the death of the King's last Hand. He worried it was murder.

_Murder and intrigue at court, _Dis had written back, words dripping with sarcasm, _perish the thought, love. _But the news had worried her. Also because she knew full well what her husband would try to do. He would try to investigate, of course. _Please be careful, love, _she had written in her last letter. _King's Landing is a dangerous place and no amount of honor will save you if you cross the King, he is not a kind man._ In truth, Dis had met King Denethor only once. He had an unpleasant smile and even more unpleasant disposition, especially when it came to his sons. Or son. His youngest boy, who could not have been but a year older than her Kili. He had such kind, sad eyes, Dis recalled, leaning on the sill of her study window.

Kili stumbled over his own feet and went toppling in the mud, much to Dwalin's combined amusement and exasperation. Dis turned away, gathering the fallen parchments and shoving them in a giant pile on her desk. She could never have imagined treating her own precious babes the way Denethor had treated his youngest son.

"What a cruel man." Dis muttered with a grimace before throwing on her furs and gathering up her skirts, sweeping out of the room in a hurry. All these thoughts had made her want to spend time with her children. Kili was closest.

As Dis appeared at the courtyard, Kili grinned wide. "Mother!" He cried over to her and got thwacked in the arm by Dwalin.

"Pay attention, Kili." She laughed softly as Kili made a blubbering noise and tried to throw himself at their Master- at-arms. He failed and tried again before finally giving up and throwing his wooden sword into the snow covered ground to run over to his mother. As he threw his arms around her waist, Dis laughed, Dwalin grumbling as he scooped the sword from the snow to stroll over.

"How fares the training, Ser Dwalin?" She asked as he joined her while Kili's face remained buried in her stomach. Dwalin grunted, rubbing a gloved hand through his impressive mustache.

"It...fares, m'lady. I'm starting to think swords are not for him. "

"No progress?"

"Er... how can I put this mildly..?" Dwalin grunted. Kili whined into his mother's skirts.

"I don't like swords. They're too heavy. I wanna learn to use a bow."

Dwalin bristled. "Bow's are no easier, little lord." He tried but Kili finally tore away from his mother with the most impressive pout a twelve year old could muster. Dwalin peered at Dis.

"My lady?"

"I see no harm in him trying."

"Unless he shoots himself in the foot."

"Well, Dwalin, YOU are our Master-at-arms. See that he does not." She laughed, ruffling her son's messy bird's nest of hair as he grinned wide.

"Really, mother?"

"Really. But I'd say that's enough for today. Tomorrow, darling. Now come. Let us go harass your brother." Kili whooped loudly, disentangling himself from Dis and bolting off for the castle. Dis did not follow right away.

"How do we fare, Dwalin? Be honest."

"Our defenses and forces leave something to be desired, my lady." Dwalin bristled into his mustache. "They've sent me useless yellowbellies to train. If your lord husband is right, we need more men."

Dis frowned, nervously toying with a strand of her black hair. "I hope he doesn't do anything foolish."

"You think he's right?"

"It is my fear. I pray to the Gods he isn't. And really, the Hand was an old man. It is definitely possible he simply died of old age." But she didn't sound convinced. Dwalin's face echoed her doubts.

"My lady, if he IS right and this was murder, he could be in danger." Dis said nothing. Surely, it would be alright. He had taken many of the strongest Northmen with him.

"Gods be good, he will be alright." She said instead, before taking off to follow her son. Dwalin fell in step with her. "What of Fili's progress?" Dis asked instead.

"His progress with swords is better than Kili's. He seems to like dual wielding. We'll make a fighter of him yet." Dis smiled, spotting Kili waving frantically at them down the hall and she sped up to join her son. No sooner had she caught up to him when he threw the door open to Maester Balin's chambers and launched himself at Fili.

Fili bawked loudly, almost falling out of his chair and laughing as he caught his younger brother while Balin almost dropped the book he was holding. Dwalin couldn't help but laugh. Spotting Dis, the Maester bowed low, his heavy chain clinking under his pure white beard.

"My lady."

"I've come to free you from the menace of my son, Maester Balin." She smiled and Balin laughed good naturedly.

"He would see it as you freeing him from me." He chuckled, rubbing a hand over his beard while Dis smiled, watching her sons wrestle. Fili was winning, simply because of his size.

"Fili, Kili, enough. Come." Dis said after a few moments of watching them, her stern tone not belying the smile on her face as her sons disentangled from one another. She bid Balin and Dwalin a good day and swept off with her sons. It had been a long day of preparation and worry and now Dis needed time to just be a mother.

Yet worry still itched at the back of her thoughts. King's Landing and the murdered Hand of the King. Nothing good was going to come of this, she could just feel it. Maybe, just maybe, the smart thing to do in this case, was to actually go to King's landing. Make sure her husband did not do anything foolish.

But that would mean leaving Winterfell to Frerin exclusively and Dis was still unsure if she could do that and leave her sons for an extended period of time. Yet Maester Balin would be here. He could look out for them all...

Watching Fili and Kili run ahead, Dis felt her fingers tighten on her skirts as she walked. She needed time. Time to think. It was important that... Her thoughts broke off just as a snowball hit her in the shoulder. There was a burst of giggling from the nearest snow pile and Dis, forgetting all dignity that came with being a highborn lady, chased her sons around the yard with snowballs in hand.

There would be time to think later. These monkeys would rue the day they thought they could beat her in a snowball fight.


	3. Fili

**A/N- Writing ickle Durins, even in human form, gives me lots of feels. I apologize for the actual lack of Bagginshield but that IS coming later. This is more world building and story based than my other fics. Anyway, I own nothing of Tolkien's or Martin's. Enjoy**

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**Fili**

Fili's dreams of late had been...odd. But that was all they were...right? They were mere dreams. Nothing that unsettling about dreams. He had tried to convince himself of this over and over again but something never sat right.

He dreamt he was falling. Every time, he fell from unfathomable heights. And every time, there was a crow. A crow with three eyes that pecked at him as he fell. "Help me!" He'd try to scream but his voice always died in his throat. The crow's words were always the same.

"Fly! Fly or die!" It would caw loudly and peck at his eyes until Fili would wake up with a start, panting for air and staring around his chambers in bewilderment. _Fly! Fly or die!_ Echoed in his ears and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't think of why he was having these dreams. It was foolish! Of course he couldn't fly! He was a boy, not a bird.

Every time this happened.

Every time except tonight.

He was falling, frantically thrashing his arms in the air when the bird came again, cawing and landing on his shoulder. "Fly!" It shrieked in his ear.

"How?! I don't know how!" Fili cried and his voice ripped through his own eardrums. It hurt. But he could speak! For the first time in these dreams, he found his voice. The crow pecked at him painfully.

"You're flying right now, boy." It shrieked.

"This...this isn't flying. I'm falling!"

"At first you have to fall in order to fly." Fili felt its beak in his eyes then in his skull, ripping through the bone. And then...he was running. The pain was gone but he was running, the earth standing still beneath him. Somewhere far ahead, he could make out a shape. A fair haired shape of a familiar man. Fili could almost recognize him but as he ran, the air got colder and colder and the light grew dim. Stone walls loomed on either side and he recognized the crypts below Winterfell in the roughness. The shape of the man was so close, standing in one of the niches in the wall but as Fili reached him, the shape suddenly collapsed on his knees and went toppling forward, blood blossoming beneath his feet in a puddle.

Fili screamed. And woke up. He was sitting now, blankets tossed aside even while his chambers were freezing. He was shivering. But not from the cold. Never in those dreams...had he felt like he knew the person. Never. It was always him and he was always falling while the crow tore his face and hair.

Quickly sliding out of bed and into his boots, Fili knew just what he had to do. Wrapping his furs around his shoulders and snatching up a lit candle, he was out of his room in a flash. Few people were about this late at night and Fili moved quietly, avoiding the guards. But he didn't stop until he reached the entrance to the crypts, the patter of paws on stone alerting him to his direwolf's presence. Soft fur brushed against Fili's quivering hand. He latched onto it, for comfort. "Come..." He muttered and slowly forced himself into the crypts.

If outside was cold, the air below was frozen still. Fili moved quietly, the flame of the candle just barely wavering against walls of stone and carven faces of dead lords and ladies. His wolf padded at his side, a comforting presence to soothe Fili's nerves. It was so quiet... quiet as death and part of him was sure he was still dreaming.

He could guess now, about the shape that he saw in his dream and as he neared the empty niche in the wall, goose bumps spread over his skin. But in the niche, he heard movement and a low snarl. His wolf moved ahead, snarling his reply.

"Mutt, no!" A shout echoed from the darkness and as Fili thrust his candle forward, Kili stumbled from the niche, his face a mess of tears, his hair a nest on his head. Fili saw his brother's direwolf bare his fangs for a brief moment before backing away.

"Kili! Kili what are you doing here? If mother found you..." Kili blubbered.

"He's not coming back, is he?" Frowning and setting his candle aside, Fili squatted in front of his little brother.

"Who?"

"Father...he's...not coming back." The words made him flinch.

"Of course he is... he'll be back before we know it."

"Don't lie to me!" Kili cried suddenly and his eyes brimmed with tears. "Please don't lie to me, Fee. Not you..." Fili bit his lip briefly before finally pulling his little brother into his arms. Kili wept.

"You saw it didn't you? That's why you're here? You saw it..." Kili fumbled through his tears and Fili finally forced himself to nod.

"It was a dream Kee...just a dream..." He muttered, even while he was unsure himself. Kili tore away in defiance.

"No! You know it wasn't!"

"Kili..."

"No." He tried to run away but Fili held him in place and pulled him close once more. Impossible. It was all impossible. Father would be fine. It was...

"It wasn't just a dream." Kili muttered through his sobs into Fili's ear, his little hands balled tightly into the fur of his older brother's cloak.

"...I want it to be just a dream..." Fili admitted weakly and hid his face in Kili's shoulder. It wouldn't be right to cry over something like this. A silly nightmare...Kili sniffled.

They sat like that for a while, Kili huddled into his older brother until Fili finally sat back and ruffled the younger boy's hair. "Come on, you can stay with me tonight." The words seemed to cheer Kili up a little and he finally let go. Scooping up his candle, Fili led them slowly from the crypts all the while trying to ignore the terrible feeling of dread that made his skin crawl. Mutt sped ahead of them while Fili's direwolf followed silently behind.

Fili still couldn't think of a proper name for his wolf. Kili had named his easily and rather irresponsibly, Fili found. But he didn't begrudge it. Mutt was Mutt now; a shaggy furred black and dark brown creature that was far more hyperactive than the other wolves and far quicker to anger or scare. Fili's wolf was more of a golden brown, matching his master's hair almost eerily well. Calmer than Mutt with a mischievous glint in its eyes. Fili could almost see himself in his direwolf.

One day, Fili would think of a name that fit.

Later, while Kili snoozed at his side, Fili lay awake, idly fingers scratching at his direwolf's ears. Mutt lay beside Kili, whining lightly in his sleep. "Tomorrow, Kee, it'll be okay. It will..." Fili muttered to the silent room, feeling his wolf's ears flick against his hand.

When he slept, his dreams were different.

He dreamt of darkness and a small boy with tussled brown hair and the most impossibly hazel eyes. He looked so tiny and so frail. But as he neared, Fili heard himself sniff at him and snarl; a low, throaty sound that rumbled in his chest. The boy didn't look afraid but moved closer, kneeling mere inches away. His gaze never left Fili's.

"Fly." The boy said, his voice a gentle whisper.

And never in his life had Fili wanted to fly more than in that moment. The earth stood still then and the skies spun and he could hear the murmurs of the trees and the whistling of the wind.

And Fili howled.


	4. Gloin

**A/N- I hate thinking of names for canon characters cuz it always make it feel like I'm making up my own OC... Research and asking around tumblr has proved that Tolkien never named Gloin's wife so everything in this chapter is mere speculation on the author's part. Thank Mahal for the movies or I would be completely making shit up appearance wise. Obviously, any character in this fic is meant to be younger than their LOTR canon counterparts, especially those characters that aren't human.**

**Anyway, enough of my blabber. Hope this is alright!**

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**Gloin**

It had been a month since he left Castle Black. The trek was long and tiresome and his horse grew less and less compliant as they went. But Gloin had refused an escort and took only as little provisions as he could. No one bothered him on the road, not even the hill men and he was all the more grateful for it.

"Warn those fools." The High Commander had told Gloin as he carefully wrapped the severed hand of the wight in some cloth. "Make them understand we need more men. We need supplies. We are scarce to protect the other castles on the wall. Make them see." Gloin was more than willing to try. And more than willing to go to King's Landing. He cared nothing for the King and less for his insanity but Gloin just wanted a few days in warm weather, sleeping on an actual bed and not having to worry about his toes freezing off during the night.

He was very close now and the weather had grown so warm that he was able to take off his thick fur cloak and bundle it up on top of his modest size bags of belongings and food. King's Landing was only a day's ride now and Gloin could scarcely conceal his relief. His horse seemed to have picked up the pace as well.

It was night time before the walls of King's Landing finally loomed above him, pale white and enormous. Gloin had been there only once before but even now, it took his breath away a little. Statues flanked his approach and Gloin could see the levels of the castle far ahead, each rising higher than the one above it. Even this late at night, people flowed through the gates, in and out of the city and no one looked twice at the Black Brother as he rode through them and into the main court of the city. Getting into the city was never the challenge. It was gaining an audience with the king.

Gloin grumbled and growled to himself but found an inn that would house him and a spot of his horse at the stables before taking a few hours to rest. He would have to wait till morning before any of the small council or the King would even consider hearing him out. But he sent a request with one of the guards and finally got himself a hot meal.

Sitting in the inn's common room and happily scarfing down freshly made stew and bread, Gloin took his time to look around. Noted all the faces, all the voices and grimaced slightly as the stew got into his magnificent beard. It may have been late, but the inn was alive with people and noise and Gloin just sat. And watched. He liked to watch and take mental notes. Especially of people breaking rules. Those were the people who inevitably wound up on the Wall with the likes of him. He scoffed into his stew and finished it quickly.

A serving maid cleaned a table nearby. Gloin watched her distractedly and let his thoughts wander. She was quite lovely, with long reddish copper hair, braided behind her and falling well to her waist line. Vows be damned, Gloin grouched internally and made it a point to at least talk to her before his stay in King's Landing was through. Who would know either way? He had no intention of marrying the woman. But she was a beauty...

Gloin remembered back to Castle Black, standing with Thorin at one end of the training yard and watching a new batch of recruits swat at each other with fake swords.

"Ye've never considered it?" Gloin asked incredulously. Thorin shrugged.

"I don't need any bastard children, Gloin. It wouldn't be easy for anyone."

Gloin considered. "But the comfort of a woman..." He paused. "Or a man, I guess, if yer into that sorta thing. And no bastard children from it." He added. Thorin looked at him blankly before shrugging again.

"I've just... never really considered it." He finished, a bit lamely and Gloin raised a bushy eyebrow at him. Thorin ignored the look. It didn't take Gloin any time to realize that the almost 40 year old might have still been struggling with just what exactly he wanted in a person before he had taken the Black. And the fact that might have wanted another man might have been a struggle in itself. Gloin wasn't about to judge. And it wasn't like their vows said anything about men. Bit of a gap, really.

Not that the gap related to Gloin much. He still liked women and all these years without a woman was making him feel a little batty. He wondered what this serving maid's name was. Something lovely, he was sure, to suit that hair and that face.

He must have been staring because she quirked an eyebrow at him and strolled off in a bit of a huff. Tomorrow then, Gloin decided, hefting himself from the bench. He'd talk to her tomorrow. Now, with his belly full, all he could think about was asleep. And when he did sleep, it was the most blissfully wonderful sleep in many a year.

The next morning was less productive than he had hoped. Before he was even able to head out of the inn, he was accosted by two Gold Cloaks and a messenger who loudly announced that the King would not be receiving an audience from anyone for a few days and the Small Council was otherwise predisposed.

"But this is important!" Gloin protested, bristling beneath his beard.

"Then I suppose you have no choice but to wait." Crooned the messenger. "His Grace has been most preoccupied these last few weeks and you are not the first to come here attempting an audience."

Gloin's eyebrows furrowed together. "This is no mere matter from some airheaded lord! This is a danger to all of the Seven Kingdoms and the faster I can gain an audience with His Grace, the faster we can resolve the issue." He said, rather loudly but the messenger smiled his oily, unpleasant smile.

"You're a Crow are you not? You should be used to waiting. So wait. His Grace cannot merely abandon important matters of state to meet with everyone who comes calling."

All of Gloin's arguing proved fruitless and the messenger simply repeated that same words over and over, wearing that same oily smile. It was all Gloin could do to keep himself from punching the man in the face. When he finally got a promise of a meeting in 4 days time, Gloin stumbled off to get a large mug of ale to drink himself silly, hours of the morning be damned.

It was on his 3rd tankard that the serving maid appeared into view, leaning on the counter as she cleaned it and quirking an eyebrow at him. "Bit early fer heavy drink, isn't it?" She asked with a bit of a laugh. Gloin grunted and chugged the rest of his ale.

"Bloody sods sittin' on their golden thrones and disregarding all tha's not them." He growled and she laughed again, the sound quite pleasant to Gloin's ears.

"If it means anything, the King's throne is iron." She shrugged easily and Gloin snorted.

"Aye, and made of melted swords." He grumbled while she filled his tankard again without even being asked. Slurring out his thanks, Gloin took a long sip, watching her over the rim of his mug. She moved with a certainty of any skilled craftsman and the grace of the most talented dancers. And Gloin was enchanted.

"So, Master Crow, 'tis quite a long hike from the Wall." She commented, eyebrow quirked. "Fleeing the cold, are we?"

Gloin snorted. "If I was fleein', I wouldn't 'ave gotten far before the Durins woulda chopped my head off fer breaking my vows. No, good lady." His expression darkened. "Somethin' evil is stirring beyond the wall. And we're spread too thin to cover all the Wall 'roperly." He slurred and shoved the tankard aside, bushy eyebrows furrowed together. She listened to him quietly, her own expression concerned.

"And His Grace will not see you?"

"Pshhhh too busy drinking and eating 'imself to an early grave, I'll wager." Gloin growled, making the serving maid laugh gently, shaking her head.

"You should be careful, sir Crow. He might have spies everywhere and words like that could cost your head." Gloin scoffed in reply.

"I don't owe him my allegiance. And who's to protect him when the White Walkers come. For come they will..." He saw her shiver and frown. Gloin patted her hand. "Fear not, good lady." He said kindly, hiccupping a little. "The men of the Watch are preparing as best we can."

"Oh that makes me feel better." She joked and Gloin barked out a laugh.

"Ah yes, the ever prestigious men of the Watch guarding humanity from the darkness." He guffawed before pulling his hand back and rubbing it through his beard. The woman laughed at that as well, hands landing on her hips.

"Well, sir Crow, the least I can do is offer you the hospitality of my inn for the next few days, seeing as you're some sorta life saver." She teased and as Gloin tried to shove money at her, she pushed it right back. "I insist." And there was that smile and that twinkle in her eyes and Gloin fell in love.

What a wonderful woman. Gloin smiled at her. "Thank ye, good lady." He said with a bow of his head, features relaxing. "I will never forget this kindness."

He saw her smirk. "Maybe later, sir Crow, we can talk over a meal." Gloin's eyebrows winged up again before he boomed with laughter.

"Ye waste no time."

"I have no time to waste. And I suspect, neither do you."

"Well," Gloin found himself saying, "ye can call my Gloin then, since we have no time fer formalities."

"Rona. Pleasure."

Vows be damned. The Gods were testing him and he was failing miserably. And he could care less.

Pleasure indeed.


End file.
